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My euphoria is interrupted by the doorbell. I run across the living room to answer it, as I already know it’s my boyfriend Jamison back from a long trip to China. I’ve barely been able to get in touch with him since I got canned and now I can’t wait to share the good news. While Sam has been doing his best to comfort me, it’s brotherly love, and I really need a hug from my significant other. (Well, okay, more than just a hug.)
When I open the door I see that he’s carrying something other than a Christmas gift. It’s a metaphorical box of relationship coal for my stocking as a peek inside tells me it’s my stuff from his apartment. My smile disappears.
“Hi,” he says, looking at the box he’s holding instead of my face.
“What’s this?” I ask, even though my romantic GPS has already told me.
Your relationship has hit… a dead end.
Recalculating…
He walks inside, accompanied by a blast of frigid December air and I close the door. “I’m… uh…”
I bite my lower lip and feel my emotions well up. He’s still not looking at me and I’ve been around the block enough times to know why. “You’re breaking up with me?”
“I’m sorry, Cassidy.”
“This why you didn’t get back to me?”
No response.
“Look at me, dammit.”
He looks up and I see very little emotion in his eyes. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since… you know. The incident.”
“And?”
“I… don’t think I can be with someone who is disliked by so many people.”
In a flash my emotions switch gears. Upset to pissed off. My blood pressure zips past elevated, leaves dangerous in the rear view mirror and goes directly to Irish-girl-wanna-hit-someone level. I see Sam wheel to the edge of the living room and peek around the wall as he’s obviously heard the conversation and is standing by in case I need him, which I will shortly. I slowly nod and fold my arms. “Wow. And here I thought you came over to support me. Alas, I incorrectly assumed you had a spine.”
“The people at the firm today…” He shakes his head as his face tightens. “God, it was just brutal what I went through.”
“What you went through? Excuse me, but are you actually playing the victim card here?”
“Cassidy, my reputation is at stake. How many clients will want to hire me if I’m in a relationship with someone like you.”
Like me? LIKE ME???
His words push me over the edge and send Sam heading in my direction. I yank the box from his arms, put it on the floor, open the door and point out at the street. “Get out.”
He reaches out and takes my shoulders but I twist away like his hands are on fire. “Cassidy, don’t take it personally—”
“You heard my sister,” says Sam, rolling to a stop a few feet from Jamison and glaring at him. “Get the hell out of our house. Now.”
My boyfriend looks at my brother, who was a six-foot-two black belt in karate before the accident and has tremendous upper body strength from life in the chair. Jamison knows Sam would have no qualms about kicking his ass. He nods and turns back to me. “Well, know that I wish you the best.”
“Yeah, right,” I say, as he heads out the door. When he’s on the way to his car I turn to look at Sam who has a gleam in his eye. He cocks his head at the pile of snow on the porch.
“Do it, Caz.”
I know exactly what he’s thinking. I step outside, grab a handful of the white stuff which has almost turned to ice, pack it into a ball, rear back and fire. It nails Jamison in the head.
“Ow!” He turns around. “What the hell was that for?”
“That’s for the snowball’s chance you ever have of coming back to me!” I flip him the bird, throw in the Italian salute for good measure (that’s the hand slapped in the crook of the opposite elbow, for those not versed in Sicilian sign language), step back inside, slam the door and get a high five from Sam.
“Feel better?” he asks.
“A little.” I feel my eyes start to well up. “Not really.”
Sam reaches his arms up, I lean down and accept his warm hug. When we break the embrace we start the rehab ritual, which, unfortunately, I have gone through too many times.
Like I said, I’ve been around the block known as Breakup Square.
He rolls into the kitchen, I follow him. He reaches into the freezer, grabs a pint of Haagen Dazs rum raisin and hands it to me, already sitting at the kitchen table with a spoon. He wheels his chair next to me and starts stroking my hair. I lean my head on his shoulder as I savor the rich ice cream.
Sam kisses the top of my head. “Hey, wait till he finds out you got another job.”
And wait till he finds out who I’ll be working with.
***
“Yo, Twitter Girl!”
The words from a young hardbodied bike messenger greet me as I emerge from the cab in Brooklyn. I smile and wave at him as he pedals by, slows down to check me out head to toe, and returns a sexy grin. (If I didn’t have an important meeting I’d grab a CitiBike and go after him.)
I head into the seriously out of the way tavern and pause a minute so my eyes can adjust to the very dim light. I walk past the ancient oak bar, empty except for a burly bartender wheeling in a keg, and spot Frank Delavan at the last table near the kitchen door. He stands up, much shorter than he appears on television, maybe five-six, and extends a hand. “Cassidy, nice to meet you. Thank you for coming.”
I return the handshake. “Thanks for inviting me.” I take a seat and adjust my chair as I take a look at the New York sports photos that cover every inch of paneled wall space. “This place is a little off the beaten path for you, huh?”
“Well, I thought in light of the publicity you might want to keep a low profile.”
“That’s not really possible when you’re a six foot tall redhead who’s been on network television for seven years, but I appreciate the thought.”
He laughs a bit. Delavan has a nice smile which goes well with his short and portly look, but I know his reputation as a gunslinger. He may look like a bald, middle-aged lawn gnome, but every politician wants him in a foxhole. “Well, the food’s excellent here. I actually try to get by once a month. This is one of the city’s best kept secrets. I grew up down the block. Used to come here as a kid for the cheeseburgers and never stopped.”
A young waiter arrives at our table, hands me a menu, and his eyes light up with recognition. “Hey, you’re Twitter Girl!”
I put my palms up and shrug. “See what I mean?” I say to Frank.
“Nice to have you in our restaurant,” says the waiter. “For what it’s worth, I thought you got a raw deal from the network. I sure miss those tweets. You’re funny as hell.”
“Thank you.”
“Well, I wish you’d start again. Anyway, I’ll give you guys a few minutes to decide.” He turns and heads back to the kitchen.
“See,” says Frank, dark eyes gleaming. “Not everyone is mad at you.”
“Nah, only about four hundred thousand people. And everyone in the state of Mississippi.”
“Well, I’m not one of those people. And neither is my candidate. He’s a big fan.”
“Really? Will Becker’s on Twitter?”
“Yep.”
“I thought politician’s accounts were actually managed by staffers.”
“Most are, but he actually likes being in touch with real people. He feels it’s more accurate than an opinion poll and it’s instant. Anyway, he loved your television stories and your Internet sarcasm. That’s why I asked you here today. You have a unique talent the campaign needs.”
“Not sure I understand.”
“Cassidy, I don’t know where your political views lie…”
“Well, I’m one of those old school journalists who actually keeps my opinions private, so I’m not gonna tell you. I know it’s fashionable to be biased, but that’s not me.”
“That’s very admirable in this day and age and the Senator will respect that. But he’s hoping you like him enough to join the campaign.”
“Let’s just say that considering his views I wouldn’t mind working for you. But I’m not sure you need someone who’s toxic with half the general public for your press office.”
Frank leans back in his chair and folds his hands in his lap. “That’s not the position we have in mind for you. And, as I said, it’s your unique talent we need. In fact, it’s a position that’s never existed in a campaign, and you’re the only person who could do the job. This new digital world offers interesting opportunities. If you don’t accept our offer for this position, one will not be made to anyone else.”
Now I’m getting confused. “I’m not sure where you’re going, Frank. If you don’t want me for your press office, what would I do? Produce videos?”
“We need Twitter Girl.”
I furrow my brow. “Okayyyyyy…”
“We need your unique brand of snark. Those wicked, sarcastic one liners that can cut people down to size and go viral. You may have lost four hundred thousand followers the first day after that tweet but you’ve picked up a quarter million new people since. Sarcasm is a valuable currency on social media. We want to hire you to do what you did for the network, only your targets will be the people we’re running against. We could spend millions on TV ads but 140 characters from you could be more effective, cheaper and a lot faster. And let’s face it, politicians are fair game. You couldn’t possibly offend anyone.”
“And those targets you mentioned would eventually include the current President.”
He nods. “Assuming the Senator wins the party primary. But until he does, there are a host of candidates challenging him who need to be taken down a notch by Twitter Girl. And of course, the President will need constant tweaks along the way while we’re going through primary season.”
“Your candidate is a stone cold lock for the nomination.”
“No such thing. You never know what sort of land mines will explode.”
“C’mon, Frank. He’s never had a scandal and just got named to a certain magazine’s most beautiful people issue. Can’t say I disagree with their judges.”
His face turns serious for a moment. “Still, there are plenty of wild cards in the deck you can’t anticipate in politics. A lot of people still might feel funny electing a President who’s single.”
“Yeah, but he’s a widower. He didn’t get divorced. Big difference. The man can’t help it if his wife got sick and died. And plenty of women would want to vote for the country’s most eligible bachelor. Or date him. Think about it, you go from dinner and a movie to First Lady. It’s the American version of marrying a prince. The only thing we don’t have is Buckingham Palace.”
He smiles and nods. “So, you get that part, huh?”
“I’m a single woman, he’s unattached, and, no offense, the man is smoking hot. Hell yeah, I get it.”
I almost regret saying that but Frank laughs as he reaches for his water. “You’re certainly not subtle.”
“Hey, you want Twitter Girl, this is what you get.”
“Good, because that’s the attitude we want. But Becker doesn’t need a girlfriend right now. He needs a Vice President of snark. Help get him elected and then you can take your best shot at the Lincoln Bedroom.”
***
One hour, two beers and a killer cheeseburger later, I’m seriously intrigued. Frank has laid the cards on the table and they’re all aces.
“There is, however, a catch,” says Frank, as he leans forward.
“Ah, I thought this was too good to be true. What’s the catch? I gotta pay for my own lunch today?”
“Cassidy, the campaign is a long, exhausting road. Even though our main campaign headquarters will be in Manhattan you’ll be away from home a lot, sometimes for a week at a time. From now till November.”
I shrug. “I figured as much. What’s the big deal?”
“I say that because… I, uh… read about what happened with your brother. We didn’t know if you could be away or if… you know. You needed to be here in town all the time.”
I lean back. “Nah, Sam is more self-sufficient than I am. He drives, has a good job. He’s an advertising copywriter. Does all the cooking, grocery shopping. The network already sends me out of town a lot. Or at least they did. Sam is fine when he’s by himself. Honestly, I don’t even notice the wheelchair anymore. He sure doesn’t.”
“Oh, I just thought since you two shared a home.”
“I was twenty-five when my parents died in the accident and Sam became unable to walk. He was fifteen. He needed a legal guardian and extensive rehab so I moved back home. My boss was very understanding and gave me a leave of absence. But he doesn’t need my help anymore for physical stuff. And he’s got some girls he hangs out with if he misses female companionship.”
“That’s good to hear. So, you never wanted a place of your own after he got better?”
“I originally thought I would but the accident made us incredibly close. Before we were always on different wavelengths because of the ten year age difference. We don’t even look alike, except for the green eyes. He got my mom’s black hair and I got the red hair and freckles. But Sam’s like an extra best friend and I wouldn’t want to have any other roommate. Until I meet Mister Right, that is.”
“It’s great that you have such a good relationship with your brother. My sister is the devil’s spawn. I think if you shaved her head you’d find three sixes.”
I laugh, already on the same sarcastic wavelength with Frank. “It’s funny, but originally I moved back home because he needed me. Now I can’t leave because I need him.”
“How so?”
“It not just that he’s my emotional rock and in some ways older than me. Sam’s got a built in bullshit detector. He meets the guys who come to pick me up on dates. Let’s just say he’s saved me from a lot of heartache. The man is an incredibly accurate judge of character.”
“I see.”
“And Sam’s my hero. He went through a whole bunch of surgeries and I know he’s occasionally in a lot of pain, but he never complains and hasn’t let his situation hold him back. I admire him more than anyone I know.”
“That’s nice.” Frank smiles and takes a sip of his beer. “Cassidy, one more thing. I know this is another personal question, and I apologize for asking, but a Presidential campaign is unique. We need your total commitment, so would this job cause any problems with a relationship?”
“It might if I had one. My boyfriend left skid marks last night. Apparently an attorney cannot have a girlfriend who has attained national redhead bitch status.”
“My, how supportive.”
“He shoulda just broken up with me on Twitter. I’m thinking of writing a book. Dumping your significant other in 140 characters or less.”
